


22. "What if one day I wake up and you don’t?”

by KittenKin



Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-18
Updated: 2020-01-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:53:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22307485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittenKin/pseuds/KittenKin
Summary: Sherlock overthinks things. Again.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Drabble Prompt Fills [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605655
Comments: 1
Kudos: 94





	22. "What if one day I wake up and you don’t?”

“Hmphn?” John replies, dragging himself out of the doze he’d fallen into midway through an episode of…whatever that was on the telly. He wipes a hand down his face and blinks at Sherlock, a bit of worry pricking at him at the expression on his flatmate’s face. Not cold aloof Sherlock or superior git Sherlock or manic toddler Sherlock. The Sherlock perched on the couch is almost unfamiliar; sad and subdued and all the lines of his face softened, letting through flickers of emotion.

“You asked me the other day why I’m…the way I am.”

John rubs some sleep out of his eye to cover up the wince. It had been a bad day made worse by two bad moods in one small flat, and culmunating in a rather explosive row. He’d actually thought it had been rather refreshing, like a summer storm detonating all the tension that had built up, but he’d left a wound, it seems.

“Sherlock, I didn’t mean–”

“I’m having to change tactics,” Sherlock interrupts, fidgeting now with a string hanging from his pajama bottoms. Half his face is hidden in his drawn-up knees. His masks are gone and his defenses are down, and it’s suddenly like looking at a child trying to take inadequate shelter behind a corner or under a blanket. John gives in to impulse and a bit of guilt and shuffles closer, laying an apologetic and hopefully encouraging hand on one slender wrist.

“Why? Um, which ones?” John prompts, doing what he can to prove himself available as a friendly ear or shoulder to lean on; whatever the man needs.

“Alone protected me for a time, but it’s lost its efficacy. Or rather, I seem to’ve lost any proficiency at it that I once had. …maybe it’s just you.” Sherlock dips his head further so that all John can see now is a mop of curls atop the detective’s knees, but his hand turns in John’s loose grasp so that it’s palm up. Asking.

John slips his hand lower, curls his fingers tight around Sherlock’s. He has to clear his throat a bit before he can properly reply.

“We’re a good team, though, yeah? And a former Army doctor’s a good person to have around for protection.”

His phalanges creak under Sherlock’s crushing grasp, but he doesn’t complain, especially since it gives his - flatmate? friend? something precious he can’t quite put a name to yet - the courage to look up.

“It’s _hateful_. I worry that each time you walk out the door, that I’ve just missed the opportunity to say my last words to you. If I wake up before you, the silence terrifies me. I spent last Thursday calculating the probability of various causes of death for you. I put _meteorite strikes_ and _ebola_ on the list, John!”

Beautiful, brilliant, stunning and silly Sherlock. Walking supercomputer and a babe lost in the woods.

John can’t help it; he snorts a short laugh, but quickly tugs Sherlock close into the best approximation of a hug that he can manage with all those limbs in the way.

“You’re a _detective_ , you numpty; stick to solving mysteries that’ve already happened. Leave the defenses and doctoring to me.”


End file.
